


Different Can Be a Good Thing

by Chrissy6299



Category: Kane (Band)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 10:28:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1222948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrissy6299/pseuds/Chrissy6299
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Steve wants something different, and therefore goes to Columbia for vacation. When he gets lost and gets entangled with the local drug cartel, he finds himself in a situation that is indeed very different than what he’s used to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Different Can Be a Good Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Chris and Steve belong to themselves. This is 100% fiction, a.k.a. Not Real!
> 
> Notes: This has been beta’d by sammys_grl, and the Spanish text is translated by milydo, thanks! No worries, the text in Spanish is also written in English where needed. Any and all mistakes are mine.

Once he is finally dropped onto a low wooden stool that squeaks under his weight, Steve can’t help but let out an almost silent sigh of relief at finally no longer being touched and manhandled by the sweaty and awful smelling men. Not that he smells like roses at the moment, but at least he took a shower this morning. Of course, this morning he had not expected to spend the day getting lost, wandering into a hidden cocaine plant, being discovered two seconds after wandering into said plant, and then being handcuffed, frisked, dumped into the back of an SUV, blindfolded for the ride, and then dragged out of the car and into a large building that had several guys with machine guns standing at different points. And to top it all off, he was being yelled at. Steve is a quiet guy, not shy, but calm and quiet, and as such; he hates being yelled at because he always ends up just sitting there and taking it, not knowing how to respond. Especially not now, since he can’t understand a word they are saying.

He should have taken Spanish in high school, or you know, not have picked Columbia as his vacation destination. He just, wanted something different. This wasn’t really what he had in mind though.

Steve takes in his surroundings as the guys who had brought him inside leave the room while two of those fellows with impressive looking machine guns stand on either side of the now closed door. Both are pointing their guns at Steve. 

Yes, Steve is terrified, but here is where that calm part of his personality comes in handy: he ignores the guards. He is sitting in the middle of a pretty bare room. Except for the stool he is sitting on, there is only one other piece of furniture: a bed, or what he guesses might serve as a bed. It is nothing more than a few boards put together, resting on a few crates and partly covered by a disgusting and itchy looking grey blanket. The floor is concrete and the four walls are made of stone. The room’s lone window was small, high, and barred with metal poles. 

A loud bang, as the door is opened and bounced hard against the wall, signals the arrival of two guys and distracts Steve from his visual exploration of the room. Two men have entered; one of the two is one of the guys who are responsible for Steve being here, and the other one…

\------------

Chris walks into the temporary holding cell while trying not to wring the neck of the guy with him who keeps on yammering on and on about how they found a spy in one of the plants. Chris is the ‘security advisor’ of Señor Gavoroa —a rich and powerful business man who is in charge of 40% of Columbia’s cocaine export. Chris is responsible for making sure that Señor Gavoroa and his family stay alive, and that business keeps going smoothly by eliminating any ‘disruptions’.

Most days no one is stupid enough to even think about getting near Señor Gavoroa or his possessions. Chris really likes those days. Apparently today is not one of those days though. It makes Chris grumpy, and he isn’t exactly Mr. nice guy on a good day; hence the desire to kill the worker next to him for simply talking too much while doing his job.

Chris comes to a stop four feet away from the prisoner, just as the worker ends his report.

“Se rehúsa hablar con nosotros Señor. No ha dicho nada.” (He is refusing to speak with us, sir. He hasn’t said a word)

“Gracías José.” Chris speaks for the first time since José started his report. “Dejanos.” While he had not specified who he was talking to, his men were trained to comply with his vague orders and, as intended by Chris, José and the two guards leave him alone with the prisoner.

Chris takes several moments to stare at the prisoner, who is staring right back at him, seemingly unafraid. This guy is either very brave or incredibly foolish. 

Besides the sweat and dirt, the guy is strong and healthy looking, as well as handsome… though that is of course currently irrelevant. He has dark blond, unruly hair, blue eyes, and looks to be around his own age and his own size, though a bit slimmer. He is wearing denim shorts, a green button down shirt, and sneakers. Silver earrings are hanging from both ears, and a tattoo on his upper arm is mostly covered by the short sleeve of his shirt. The man looks nothing like a Columbia native, but he doesn’t look like a foreign spy either.

“Cómo te llamas y qué estas haciendo en la fábrica?”

\------------

While the man before him seems to be considering what to do with him, Steve can’t help but stare back; the guy has really, really great hair. It was warm brown, long and wavy, and looks really soft. Hair was one of Steve’s ‘weak’ spots; he loves it when guys play with his hair, and he loves to play with other guys’ hair. But great hair or not, this guy was obviously another crook; the gun resting in the guy’s waist of his tight jeans removed any doubt from that assumption.

Steve sighs as the man in front of him starts speaking Spanish again. That’s it; he was never setting foot in a non-English speaking country ever again. 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t speak Spanish.” Steve explains. He had said so before when he was first kidnapped, but the men didn’t seem to understand him. Steve really hopes that this guy at least understands English, and, if he was really lucky, even speaks some.

The dark haired man raises his eyebrow, and a smile forms on his face, though Steve can’t tell if it’s a good or a bad sign.

“You’re American?” Steve is questioned in English… in American-English actually.

“Yes!” Steve exclaims without raising his voice. Relieve flooding him as he finally hears some familiar words.

“What’s your name and what were you doing at my boss’ plant?” The man asks in a rough no-nonsense voice that puts fear right back into Steve.

“I’m Steve Carlson, Steven. What’s your name?” Steve asks, in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

It doesn’t go over as he had intended though, it just seems to piss the guy off. However, he does answer Steve’s question. “Chris. Now Talk!” Chris orders, and Steve does as told…

“I’m from California, and I’m here on vacation. This morning I went for a walk, but after walking a few miles I realized I was lost. I changed direction and I thought that I was walking back to where I came from, but I guess I got turned around. I heard voices and hoped to find someone who could help me find my way back into town; that’s when I walked into the plant.” Steve tries not to rush his explanation, and tries to not let his fear take control. If this guy doesn’t believe him, Steve knows that he will be in a world of trouble.

“Right! You came to Columbia for a vacation and just happened to wander onto a cocaine plant!” Is the sarcastic response Steve gets, along with cold blue eyes staring at him and coming closer until they are less than a feet away.

“Who are you? Who do you work for?” Chris demands more than questions, as he leans down a little to maintain eye contact.

Steve takes a breath to compose himself, but dread is settling in his stomach. “I told you who I am. I’m Steve Carlson, I’m a chef, and I work in a restaurant in California. Please, I’m telling you the truth!”

Chris stays silent for a minute, frozen in place, still in Steve’s personal space. Just when Steve wants to say more, Chris takes a step back and he seems to relax a bit, and Steve releases the breath he did not know he had been holding.

“Okay, so you’re a chef, who had the terrible idea that Columbia was a good place to get some R&R.” Chris shakes his and sounds gloomy as Steve heard him say “It sucks to be you, man.”

“What? Why?” Steve questions bewildered, needing to know what Chris meant by that.

A knock on the door interrupts Steve’s inquiry though, and another man with a machine gun appears after Chris told him to “Entre.”

“Señor, Señor Gavoroa pide su presencia.” (Sir, Señor Gavoroa is requesting your presence.)

Chris simply nods in response, turning back to Steve as he does so. 

Steve opens his mouth to once again ask what Chris meant, but before he can even see it coming, he feels the sharp pain left by Chris’ fist just below his left eye. Perplexed, he watches as Chris storms off and the guard closes the door, leaving Steve all alone.

\------------

Steve had gotten up from the stool he was placed on after it appeared that no one was coming back any time soon, and wandered around his small prison. He had checked the window, which was as he suspected too small go get through, even if he would be able to get the bars loose. Quietly he had checked the door, but that was unsurprisingly locked. Finally he had settled down on the hard floor next to the bed. 

That was a while ago, and Steve hasn’t seen or heard anyone since Chris had left. He is hungry, and the left side of his face is throbbing. He can’t believe his misfortune; who wanders into a drug plant?!? Authorities spend, or so he imagines, hundreds of hours and hundreds of thousands of dollars into finding these plants, and he just finds one by accident. 

Steve looks around the room once more. He has run many scenarios in his head on what might happen next, but he’s pretty sure that he’ll never see the outside of this room again. It’s the Columbia drug cartel… they’ll either leave him in here to rot or kill him.

Sounds of people approaching and someone fumbling at the door, startle him out of his depressing thoughts. Steve stays where he is; he found out earlier that while sitting down on the floor was no problem, getting up with his hands still handcuffed behind his back is pretty hard. 

Three guys walk into the room. One guy, the only one of the three with a machine gun, stays standing next to the door. The other two approach Steve with handguns pointed at him. 

“Get up.” The shorter of the two goons says in broken English.

Steve pushes himself up with his legs while leaning against the wall for support. His arms and hands are hurting, and he can’t help but hope against the odds that they will take the cuffs off. 

Instead of helping though, the tall guy grabs Steve with one hand in his hair and one hand on his shoulder and pushes him on the bed, face down.

Steve stumbles at the unexpected move and falls down on his knees while his upper body lands hard on the makeshift bed. A second later he feels a knee on his back and still cuffed right arm, pushing him down. He turns his head sideways and tries to see what’s going on.

The small guy is the one with his knee on Steve, and the goon is smiling and talking to his companion while pointing his gun at Steve’s head, just inches from his face.

Frozen in fear, Steve doesn’t even think to move. He just stares at the gun, not blinking, waiting for the guy to pull the trigger. His mind is blank; his life isn’t flashing before his eyes and he isn’t begging them to please not kill him. He just waits.

Except, the bullet doesn’t come. Instead, he feels hands sliding underneath his hips and opening the buttons on his jeans. ‘Fuck No!’ goes through Steve’s mind and almost on pure instinct he kicks behind him with his right leg. His foot hits something solid and is he rewarded with a curse from the tall guy, the knee on his back pressing down painfully, and the gun that was mere inches from his face now resting on his temple as the short guy above him looks at him angrily. 

The hands return, and this time Steve doesn’t move as his jeans and boxer-briefs are pulled down. He is shooting daggers at the short guy, while silently contemplating which is worse, being raped or killed. 

As two fingers, wet with spit, are roughly shoved into him without warming, Steve’s mind is made up; he would rather be dead. Ignoring the gun at his temple, Steve starts to wiggle his upper body and is trying to kick with his legs while shouting at the goons to stop and begging the guard to help him. This time the guys are ready for it though, and all his trashing, kicking and yelling is not having any effect.

The two fingers are pulled out of him for a few seconds, only to return along with a third finger. Steve gives up on his struggles, and a few tears fall onto the dirty, grey blanket beneath him. 

After only a minute, Steve winces in pain as the fingers as pulled out of his ass once more. He closes his eyes when he hears a zipper being pulled down, and tries to relax, tries to prepare for what’s coming.

He can’t do it. He knows how much it will hurt if he doesn’t relax; he has had sex with men before, and even then, when it’s consensual, it hurts a bit if he’s not relaxed or prepped enough. But he can’t relax; he’s trembling all over and tears running continuously from his closed eyes.

When two hands are placed on his buttocks to spread them, Steve freezes. He feels the guy behind him step closer, and… 

\------------

The door bangs open once more and four pairs of eyes focus on Chris as he enters.

“Qué pasa? De dónde viene este grito?” (What’s with the screaming?) Chris asks, his eyes finding two of his man and Steve near the bed.

The tall man, who doesn’t seem to mind that his hard cock is on display for his boss to see, responds. “Sólo nos estamos divirtiendo. Quiere participar Señor?” (We’re just having a little fun. Do you want to join us, sir?)

Chris only shakes his head as an answer. His men do this on occasion with prisoners on ‘death row,’ and while he doesn’t mind, he never participates. 

“Dejadnos!” (Leave us.) Chris orders just as the guy with his pants down turns back to his intended victim.

“Pero Señor!?!”

“Ahora no. Tengo que hablar con el una vez más antes de volver a casa, después podeís hacer lo que quereís.” (Not now. I need to speak with him once more before I head home for the day, then you can do what you want.) Chris assures casually, and he’s happy to see the guys clear out without further dispute. 

Chris stays were he is while he observes Steve as he pulls himself up to sit on the bed. He pulls his knees up to his chest, the pants that are scrunched up below his knees providing him with some sense of modesty. His hands are still cuffed behind his back, preventing him from pulling up his pants. 

Once Steve’s seated, Chris walks to the stool, which is still positioned in the middle of the room, and sits on it, facing Steve, leaving several feet between them.

\------------

While Steve is immensely grateful for Chris’ impeccable timing, he’s wary at his intent. He didn’t seem angry at his guys for trying to rape him, which really did not bode well. 

Wary or not, he can’t help but express his relief with an almost whispered, “Thanks,” toward Chris.

Chris simply nods in response and Steve waits silently as Chris continues to stare at him for the next few minutes. 

“I checked your story.” Chris starts the conversation casually as if they’re just two guys in a bar talking about sports. “It seems that you are who you say you are,” he continues with a small smile. 

After a minute, during which Steve cannot help but wait for the other shoe to drop, Chris continues, sounding more serious and grave. “That leaves us with a problem. While you’re an innocent civilian, you do now know the location of one of my boss’ plants.”

“I won’t tell anyone! I swear!” Steve is quick to assure.

“This ain’t a secret affair you walked into here, man. We’re talking about an illegal, multi million dollar corporation, and it’s my job to prevent ‘trouble’. I’m sorry, but there is no way I can let you go.”

Chris actually seems somewhat saddened by that, and Steve finds himself looking away. He knows it’s no use; begging for his life, begging to be released will get him nowhere, even if Chris isn’t happy about the situation.

“I understand.” Steve mumbles, before taking a deep breath to gather some courage. He looks up and asks the one request he thinks Chris might grant him. “Would you please kill me now then? I don’t like your guards much.”

“Sure, I can do that.” Chris responds, but he makes no move to get the gun that is still resting in the waist of his jeans. Instead he gets up and walks toward Steve empty handed. Steve flinches and shies back when Chris comes close and his hands reach out toward him. Images of Chris snapping his neck as if it’s nothing flash in his mind, his heart racing. But instead of going for his neck, Chris leans over and behind him, unlocking the handcuffs with a key that Steve had not noticed in his hands.

Steve quickly scrambles to pull up and fastens his pants before he rubs his sore wrists and wiggles his stiff fingers as Chris pockets the key and sits back down on the stool. “Thanks.” He whispers once more, grateful for the gesture of making him as comfortable as possible before he dies.

Steve stays seated, though now on the edge of the bed, waiting for Chris while his nerves incessantly increase. He shaking and doesn’t appreciate Chris making him wait. “Well?”

“I… shit!” Chris rubs his right hand over his face in what appears to be frustration. “I’ve got an alternative proposal for you, if you want to hear it?”

Stunned, it takes Steve a few seconds to respond with the obvious answer, “Yes, what is it?”

“I can’t let you leave, but I don’t have to kill you.”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“I know,” Chris cuts Steve off “You don’t like the guards. But, you don’t have to stay here, in this building; you just have to stay there where I know you won’t be a threat.”

Steve remains silent, waiting for a better explanation.

“You can stay with me, at my place.” Chris continues quietly, and adds with a shrug, “It will be forever, but I won’t have to kill you.”

“Why? Why would you do that?” Steve asks, confused.

Chris’ eyes wander over Steve in such a way that makes Steve feel like he is being checked out, and as Chris shrugs once more and says “I get lonely,” any doubt about Chris’ intent is erased from Steve’s mind.

Steve takes a minute to take it in. Chris is not bad looking and he does have great hair, but that’s pretty much where the list of positive things Steve knows about Chris ends, except for the ‘I don’t want to kill you’ part. Chris is a professional bad guy and has a tendency to be abusive. 

“So, you want me to be your personal punching bag and boy-toy?” Steve asks, wanting to put it out there in plain English.

Chris laughs, and Steve’s traitorous brain notes that he’s got a great smile. “I like you.” Chris states before answering the question. “I do like sex, but I was also hoping for your company as well. I imagine it would me nice to come home to share dinner with someone and watch a movie or football game together.”

The answer seems honest and not appalling, considering the situation; however, it does not distract Steve from the fact that Chris has not addressed the first part of his question. Steve raises his eyebrow and gives Chris a pointed look.

It takes a few seconds for Chris to catch on, but once he does, he looks sheepish as he apologizes, “Sorry about that, with this job I’ve got to keep my reputation of being a bad ass, you know. Before, I already had the feeling that your story would check out, and well, your looks had already put this idea in my mind. So the punch was to counter any future rumors of me being sweet on you if you decide to come home with me. My ‘colleagues’ will assume you’re my “punching bag and boy-toy,” as you described it, but I’ll treat you right.

Steve nods. His mind is racing, he can’t imagine what his life will look like if he accepts the offer, but he doesn’t want to die either. 

“Was that nod a yes, you accept my offer?” Chris seems eager.

“What? No! I… I don’t know; you’re not giving me a lot of information here.” Steve counters. He’s frustrated and doesn’t like being rushed. “This is forever we’re talking about here, and I don’t know anything about you.”

“Yes, either forever with me or you die now.” Chris replies harshly, and Steve flinches at the cold truth of the words.

\------------

Chris silently curses his insensitivity as he sees Steve flinch at his words. He’s not good at this sort of thing, which is the reason for his loneliness. One night stands or short affairs he can do, but a serious relationship, like he has always craved, he has never managed. Everyone always leaves him long before they can get there. This offer might be Steve’s only hope, but Chris knows that this is most likely his only hope as well. Steve is special, he feels it! 

“I’m sorry,” Chris tries again. “We don’t have time to get to know each other first, but… I was born in Dallas, Texas. Growing up, life was hard and I turned to a life of crime. I worked for a big drug dealer in the U.S., but things got hot there, and I ran south. Señor Gavoroa had heard of my rep. and hired me right away. That was five years ago. But that’s my work, it’s not me. I like good food, beer with a football or hockey game, I play some guitar, and heck I even like to read a good book every now and then.”

Steve seems to perk up at that. “You play guitar?” 

Chris nods, happy that they are apparently able to connect on something, but that happiness soon fades as the look on Steve face turns somber.

“My guitar is in my hotel room.”

“No worries, we’ll get it and some of your other stuff, tomorrow. We’ll have breakfast in town afterwards.” Chris assures quickly, wanting Steve to look somewhat happy again.

“But… I’m allowed to go out?” Steve questions puzzled. 

“Sure, you’ll be with me the whole time. I’ll get you one of those ankle security bracelets tomorrow. They’re impossible to get off once on, and they explode, amputating your leg and causing enough damage to the rest of you that you’re guaranteed to bleed to death. Also, should I find out that you have told anyone about the location of the plant, I can activate the detonation on the bracelet with my phone.”

Steve looks horrified at Chris’ casual yet graphic explanation. Good, Chris wanted to make an impact. However, he now notices that Steve isn’t breathing at the moment, just staring at him in shock. Had he mentioned how he sucks at this sort of thing? 

“Breathe, I know it sounds horrible, but please take a breath.” Chris fights the instinct to reach out to hold and comfort the other man. He holds back and stays seated on the stool, not wanting to scare Steve even more.

Steve does as directed by taking a shaky breath, and then another one. “I…” He starts, but didn’t continue, probably not even knowing what he wants to say.

“It’s harsh, I know, but you already promised me that you wouldn’t tell anyone about the plant, so you don’t have to worry. This security bracelet let’s you have some freedom to go into town, shop, socialize, have a job even if you want. You can never leave, but you can build a new life here with me, without actually having to be a prisoner in my house.” Chris hopes that the explanation is enough, hopes that Steve sees that his life can still be good, and hopes that he’ll pick this option over death. 

After long minutes of neither of them speaking, while Chris waits impatiently, Steve take a long, deep breath before voicing his decision.

 

Epilogue

Steve lets his mind wander as his interest in the uneventful football game they are watching decreases even more. Today is their six month anniversary and Chris had surprised him a few hours ago by having cooked dinner for him when he came home from a trip into town. There were no candles on the table and they drank beer with the meal instead of wine, but it had been romantic nonetheless. 

Six months ago Steve had been brought to this house with promises that he wasn’t sure he could believe. However, Chris had kept his word, about everything; Chris treated him right and Steve was free to build a new life. That first night, when Chris had taken him home, Chris had kept his hands to himself and their physical relationship had progressed much slower than Steve could have possibly imagined. They had taken the time to get to know each other first.

Steve had soon learned that, as promised, Chris’ tough guy attitude truly was nothing but just that, attitude. Once they were in the safety of their own home, and yes, it now felt like home to Steve, he was usually gentle and caring, with a wicked sense of humor and a healthy appetite for sex with the occasional kink. 

Light reflecting on his anklet caught Steve’s eye. After that first month, Chris had gotten him a new security ankle bracelet, one that looked like men’s jewelry while still having all the ‘features’ the old one had. Steve rarely even noticed it nowadays, and both men knew that it was just for show, it would never actually be used. 

Not that everything is perfect. At first Steve had been frustrated with his lack of human contact, which Chris helped fix by teaching him Spanish. Now Steve works as a chef two nights a week in a local family restaurant and volunteers two mornings a week to read and play music to the town’s kindergarteners.

Then they had gotten into several arguments about Chris’ work, especially the nights when Chris got home with blood on his clothes. After the fourth major argument on the subject, Chris started bringing a change of cloths to work so that he could change out of his blood stained clothes if needed. It didn’t change Steve’s point of view of Chris’ work of course, but it kept work out of their home, and their arguments died down.

Steve looks up at Chris who is sitting on the other side of the couch, rubbing Steve’s feet absentmindedly, while watching the game. As if feeling Steve’s eyes on him, Chris looks up and smiles. “What?”

Steve smiles back, pulls his feet back, grabs the remote that was lying between them on the couch, and moves to sit on Chris’ lap.

No, life is not perfect, but he doesn’t feel like a prisoner, and he isn’t the punching bag or boy-toy he originally feared he would be. Chris loves him and treats him as an equal. 

“I think that we can entertain ourselves for a while without the TV on.” Steve says as he turns of the TV and starts places light kisses on Chris’ lips, teasing him, pulling back every time Chris starts to respond. 

His actions have the desired response, and soon Steve is running into the bedroom with Chris right behind him. He laughs out loud as Chris catches him from behind, just as he reaches the bed, and together they fall onto the bed, on top of each other. Chris dives in for a proper kiss, and Steve eagerly kisses back before pulling back once more to look into the eyes of the man he gets to spend forever with.

Steve wanted something different when he decided to come to Columbia. His life sure is different now, and maybe it’s not perfect, but Steve loves his life, almost as much as he loves Chris.

 

The End


End file.
